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Many G.o.ds.
by Cale Young Rice.
"ALL'S WELL"
I
The illimitable leaping of the sea, The mouthing of his madness to the moon, The seething of his endless sorcery, His prophecy no power can attune, Swept over me as, on the sounding prow Of a great s.h.i.+p that steered into the stars, I stood and felt the awe upon my brow Of death and destiny and all that mars.
II
The wind that blew from Ca.s.siopeia cast Wanly upon my ear a rune that rung; The sailor in his eyrie on the mast Sang an "All's well," that to the spirit clung Like a lost voice from some aerial realm Where s.h.i.+ps sail on forever to no sh.o.r.e, Where Time gives Immortality the helm, And fades like a far phantom from life's door.
III
"And is all well, O Thou Unweariable Launcher of worlds upon bewildered s.p.a.ce,"
Rose in me, "All? or did thy hand grow dull Building this world that bears a piteous race?
O was it launched too soon or launched too late?
Or can it be a derelict that drifts Beyond thy ken toward some reef of Fate On which Oblivion's sand forever s.h.i.+fts?"
IV
The sea grew softer as I questioned--calm With mystery that like an answer moved, And from infinity there fell a balm, The old peace that G.o.d _is_, tho all unproved.
The old faith that tho gulfs sidereal stun The soul, and knowledge drown within their deep, There is no world that wanders, no not one Of all the millions, that He does not keep.
THE PROSELYTE RECANTS
(_In j.a.pan_)
Where the fair golden idols Sit in darkness and in silence While the temple drum beats solemnly and slow; Where the tall cryptomerias Sway in wors.h.i.+p round about And the rain that is falling whispers low; I can hear strange voices Of the dead and forgotten, On the dimly rising incense I can see The lives I have lived, And my lives unbegotten, _Namu Amida Butsu_ pity me!
I was born this karma Of a mother in Chuzenji, Where Nantai-zan looks down into the lake; Where the white-thronged pilgrims Climb to altars in the clouds And behold the holy eastern dawn awake.
It was there I wandered Till a priest of the Christians With the crucifix he wore compelled my gaze.
In grief I had grown, So upon its grief I pondered.
_Namu Amida Butsu_, keep my days!
It was wrong, he told me, To pray Jiso for my children, And Binzuru for healing of my ills.
And our G.o.ds so many Were conceived, he said, in sin, From Lord Shaka to the least upon the hills.
In despair I listened For my heart beat hopeless, Not a temple of my land had helped me live.
But alas that day When I let my soul be christened!
_Namu Amida Butsu_, O forgive!
For the Christ they gave me As the only Law and Lotus, As the only way to Light that will not wane, May perchance have power For the people of the West, But to me he seemed the servitor of pain.
For in pain he perished As one born to pa.s.sion: In some other life no doubt his sin was great, Tho they told me no, Those who followed him and cherished.
_Namu Amida Butsu_, such is fate.
So again to idols Of the Buddha who is boundless, While the temple drum is beating thro the rain, I have turned from treason Into Meditation's truth, From the strife the Western G.o.d regards as gain.
And if now I'm dying As the voices tell me, To the lives that I must live I'll meekly go; Till my long grief ends In Nirvana, and my sighing.
_Namu Amida Butsu_, be it so!
LOVE IN j.a.pAN
I
Dragon-fly lighting On the temple-bell, Whose soul do you hear On the Day of the Dead?
The soul of my lover?
Ah me, the plighting Between two hearts That were never wed!
Dragon-fly, quickly, The priest is coming!
Oh, the boom Of the bitter bell!
Now you are gone And my tears fall thickly.
How of Heaven Do the G.o.ds make h.e.l.l!
II
The semi is silent (Autumn rains!) The wind-bells tinkle (How chill it is!) The quick lights come On the shoji-panes.
Come, O Baku, Eater of dreams!
The maple darkens (Pale grow I!) The near night s.h.i.+vers (The temple fades.)
Haunting love Will not cease to cry!
Come, O Baku, Eater of dreams!
The wild mists gather (Ah, my tears!) The pane-lights vanish (For some there is rest.) But for me-- The remembered years!
Come, O Baku, Eater of dreams!
MAPLE LEAVES ON MIYAJIMA
The summer has come, The summer has gone, And the maple leaves lift fairy hands That ripple upon the winds of dawn Where the dim paG.o.da stands.
They ripple and beckon yearningly To their sister fairies over the sea, But help comes not, So they fall and flee From Autumn over the sands.
